


won't let me grow dark or cold

by rjosettes



Series: Tumblr Fics [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rjosettes/pseuds/rjosettes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malia doesn't feel safe sleeping away from a pack member after the hell they all go through. Lydia takes her turn sharing her bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't let me grow dark or cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexenglish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/gifts).



> Written for the 'bed sharing' prompt for the TW Femslash February Writing Challenge. Title from Laura Marling's "Rest in the Bed".

Lydia shifts when her neck starts to ache again, wincing when the bath pillow drags against the tub’s side with a squeak. The only sound in the moments after is the gentle puff of air from the vents warming the upstairs bedrooms. She hasn’t woken up Malia, who has a tendency to drop right to the floor when startled since…well. They don’t talk about it. Lydia can understand that much, at least; Malia wants a safe place to fall asleep, not a therapy session.

Unfortunately, Lydia’s going to need physical therapy if she stays in the tub any longer. There’s more to read, always more, but she shuts down her tablet and blinks away the after-image of the bestiary page she’s been deciphering. After more than twenty-four hours awake, Malia’s sensitivity to its light in the otherwise pitch-dark is easier to identify with. She levers herself up from the bath and into her slippers for the short walk from the bathroom to her bed. Just the thought of sinking into memory foam has her moaning to herself in relief. Bedtime is long overdue; Scott would scold her if he knew she was pushing herself so hard so fast. They’re supposed to be recovering, but arming herself with knowledge is what Lydia knows.

By memory, she follows the path to her four-poster, glad there’s no one to witness the undignified little hop she takes to make it onto the mattress. With the curtains pulled and the lights out, Malia is little more than an outline under the smooth sheets. Lydia crawls beneath them and curls onto her side, colored spots dancing in her vision. She’s only just starting to adjust when the lump in her bed twitches, sighs, and heaves itself over to face her.

“Oh,” Lydia whispers. A few beats of silence pass while she swallows her surprise. “Malia, is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Her hair is too short now to hide the curve of her breasts where the sheets have slipped down, but like ninety percent of everything that happens to them, Malia seems unfazed by it. That makes one of them. “I can’t sleep,” she complains. “It’s too hot. Why are you whispering?”

“S…someone,” Lydia covers quickly, not keen on bringing up Malia’s possibly ex-something when she’s evaded the topic so far. “Someone told me you run cold. Kira, I think. I turned the thermostat up so you wouldn’t freeze without me in bed when I left to read. Sorry.” Now that she mentions, maybe it is overly warm in here. “I can turn it down, I’ll just go-”

Strong fingers curl tight around her wrist and then gentle, leaving wiggle room. “No. Not while it’s dark.”

“Sweetheart, it was dark outside when I left last time. It’s right out in the hall; I’ll be back in two seconds.”She resists the urge to tug at Malia’s hold on her, pulse jumping under the light pressure of her fingers. “You’ll sleep easier.”

There’s a faint glint of electric blue between them before the bed shifts again, sheets pooling. Malia straddles her, kneeling up tall with no shame for her parted thighs and the shadows between them. “Come on,” she urges, grip traveling until their fingers tangle. “We’ll go together.”

Nothing ambushes them in the hallway, even when they both spook at the sound of Lydia’s mother shuffling around in the kitchen. Malia smells coffee grinds and exhaustion wafting up the stairs, and they tiptoe back to the bedroom to avoid the reality of the sun threatening to rise outside.

Lydia can’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes in the afternoon with arms wrapped tight around her waist and a knee wedged between her legs. Malia’s bare skin is covered in goosebumps, tiny shivers making her curl closer. She needs the heat turned back on, or some clothes on at the very least. Lydia really should wake her up.

Maybe later.


End file.
